Survival of the Fittest
by Dagdoth Fliesh
Summary: Gwyn, mechanic for the shuttlecraft Betsy-Daisy, didn't like the interfering Company sending her crew into reaches unknown. When operations go wrong, it turns to pure Darwinism: Survival of the Fittest. M/F/M, M/F, OC, Xeno, Rape
1. Survival of the Fittest: Prolog

Hello, ya'll! This is a WIP that I'll work on between free time, I promise! This first chapter is just the prolog, but I hope it catches your attention and makes you crave more ;D. Tell me about any errors or such you spot and please review! I love me some good criticism, mmm-mmm-mmm. I'd also like to say I have not read the AVP comics or books, but I've researched Yautja culture for a while and can accurately portray them.

-Hale

Survival of the Fittest

Prolog

A lot of things can happen when you're this deep in space, meteor storms, air breaches, mechanical and technical malfunctions, cabin fever. Maybe their captain had a break down, maybe he couldn't take the pressure on his shoulders anymore. All I know is if something goes wrong out here on the outer reaches of what man knows, there's less than a percentage of staying alive.

It smells like oil, a cheap imitation cologne for the real_ men_ back home. My protective suit is sweltering, sticking to my skin; but on the outside I know it's nearly absolute zero - - the point where everything on the molecular scale stands still, frozen. The static of the com in my ear makes my head ring and builds pressure in my sinuses, but I have to leave it open, protocol dictates so.

The military vessel _Titan_ sent out a distress signal, which by default it was received months afterwards - - the S.O.S. had to travel a vast distance. The recording wasn't long, just a small snippet of guns firing, someone screaming "_oh God!_" and then absolute silence.

The silence is what gets people out here, the vastness of black. No one hears screaming in space, and when they do, like the _Titan,_ it's too late to do anything. Anything but figure out what happened so it could be prevented in the future.

That's where I come in, my jolly intergalactic-junk-towing skiff, the crew, captain, and I. After the _Titan's _distress signal came in, it was determined by the Marines that our ship was the closest to help, commandeered and sent on our merry way - - even then we were months away. We're almost to their last known location, but it would help if our own ship wasn't suddenly on the fritz.

"_See anything yet, Gwyn?_" the static voice of Taylor echoed in my head gear. "_The leak should be in that sector." _

I breathed the filtered air deeply, as if it would help with my impending migraine. The outside of our small _reckon_ ship, _The Betsy Daisy_ (which had the misfortune to be named after _two_ of our captains former wives), modified transport class, was a dull steel gray, helping to keep the shine of the planet below to a minimum. On the side a pinup woman sat on a red rocket, flashing her ridiculously proportioned body. To Captain Mason's chagrin it'd nearly been scorched away. As a woman, the rest of the crew didn't get my sympathy. I didn't need to wander in on them jacking off to fantasies about that babe.

Tilting my head back, I immediately regretted the action as a wave of vertigo swept into my stomach. Our craft was rotating fast around its horizontal axis, like a tumbler ride on old earth, watching the planet below our ship appear and disappear at frightening speeds.

It really was a pretty planet, lush greens and blues spread out over massive mountains and a canyon that cut across the surface before molding into desert. The best part: it wasn't terraformed by the Company. Too bad my brains felt like they were going out my ears.

"Damn it, Taylor, you said Dukes had stopped our spinning!" I snapped into the com, gripping the safety cord that attached my hip to the ship so tightly it hurt. Vomiting in space wasn't exactly on my to do list today - - it looses its humor when its me and not Taylor, or the other boys.

"_Oh, you can take it; what happened to all that bravado?_" the impetuous man laughed, I could hear his smirk through the link. "_You're almost there anyway. Patch Betsy Daisy up and we'll have a drink to a job well done." _

I swore, picking up my magnetic boots from the hull and clomping forwards, eyes on the metal and nothing else. Sweat dripped down my brow, stung my eyes, but I still saw the remaining stream of blue colored coolant, leaking lazily into the reaches of space before freezing. A few more steps and I was right on top of it, a small hole impacted into the dense metal.

Upon closer inspection, I pressed the console on my wrist to phone Taylor home. "El Capi'tan Mason didn't install new equipment, did he?" Uneasy, I knelt and swatted chunks of iced coolant from the area, letting them drift off; something metal had dug itself into the ship, into the thick pipes. It was the size of my fist and flashed red every few seconds, like a beacon. "Do you see this?"

The quiet was long in between signals, deafening. I dared to let go of the safety line to adjust the camera scope on my helmet. The static was suddenly welcomed as I unlatched the sealant from my hip, shaking the container to make sure the chemicals were well mixed.

"_Yeah,_" Taylor's crackling accent finally replied, frustrated. "_I see it. He knows he's supposed to tell us whenever something new gets put on this rig. God-damned though, they did a job of installing it, whatever the hell it is!_ _Put a plug in and get back here, Gwyn, we'll try a test run and see if that leak fixes."_

"Copy that," I let go of the com link and carefully applied the soldering mixture, letting it harden quickly in the cold space before reapplying. '_There_,' I finally stood straight, looking over my work critically. The beacon still bothered me, its red flashes circling around the contraption slowly.

Something caught my eye, just a quick flash from above. By the time I looked (and wished I hadn't, because that vertigo came back full force) I thought I saw another ship, something large enough to make USCMC shuttle class. When the rotation brought me round again, there was nothing there but dark black space. Empty as ever.

My heart pounded in my chest, my neck was tense. I wanted severely to wipe my brow. I swore there was something there.

Too many things can go wrong out here, and I wasn't ready to put delusions on my long list.

Inside, it was better. I was happy to be on solid ground, without the prospect of floating into oblivion. It was also cooler than the space suit, much to my enjoyment. Taylor caught me in the process of slipping from the leggings, and knocked his knuckles against the door frame. He was a cowboy, to put it blandly, dark stubble on his chin at all hours, no matter if he'd shaved a couple hours before; the hat was what did it though, there was no reason to wear the damned thing.

"How about that drink?" I could tell he was severely annoyed about the beacon topside. Couldn't blame him really, he was the chief mechanic - - no one so much as looked at his baby skiff wrong without him having a say.

"I'll take it, as long as you promise Duke's not getting any," and I was still pissed about the rotary thrusts that shouldn't have happened. My stomach was in knots, but the alcohol would cure that.

Taylor laughed shortly as I walked past in my underclothes straight to the mess hall, throwing back into a rickety chair that'd seen heavier loads than me. He waltzed straight to the stash of cheap booze that could fuel a car, taking a whole bottle for a swig as he sat down, passing it to me. _Chief_ sighed as I grimaced, then took a mouthful and attempted to swallow.

Boy shorts and a thin tank weren't noticed around here; I was one of the boys in their eyes. Sometimes it really got to me, being the only woman out of six. Other times I was extremely grateful they didn't take double looks, like during communal showers for example. On the off chance we landed for repairs they were busy spending all their credits on cheap whores, smokes, booze, guns, and food. In that order; it truly only bothered me when I came back to the ship and it smelt like old sex and piss. I could handle the idea that they didn't find me attractive, because rarely they attracted me.

Mr. Cowboy motioned for the booze again as I finished another swig, laughing at my inability to _take it like a man_. Excuse me for having a squishy butt and internal reproductive organs, he could shove it up his prostate if that's what he wanted. I told him as much and he had another laugh before sliding the liquor across the table, right into Herrick's waiting hand. He must've just slipped in. Damn if the bubbly in my stomach didn't feel good though.

"Taylor," the newcomer started with a quirk of the lips, raising the drink with a thankful nod, "you're not supposed to be drinking this early in the shift." But he raised the rim to his mouth anyway, and drank down as much as he could. My eyes followed the motion of his Adam's apple, bobbing up and down.

Herrick was our "smart guy," the guy who knew everything about anything and then some; secondary pilot and arms expert, junk skiff bodyguard. He was also the only one of us who'd ever actually been to earth, not that there was much left to see but an industrial wasteland. He had a hooked nose and sharp black eyes, a wiry body, and a _nice ass_. I'd say out of all five of 'em he was the only man I wouldn't mind a tumble in the sheets with, if he ever offered. It's just too bad that our relations were strictly platonic.

He finished, setting the bottle before me as he sank languidly into one of the four remaining chairs. His hand automatically went down to fiddle with the antique handgun on his thigh, "not a bad way to start off a cycle though."

But I'd had enough, and sent the booze straight back to Taylor. I'd like to say that out of all of us, I knew when enough was enough because the rest of the crew ran off it like water. Taylor and I still had to test out the coolant, and I wanted to be sober when Duke came off shift; he was in for a sleep cycle of hurt.

Talk of the Devil.

Duke, thick headed muscle man, something up his ass 24/7 a cycle, opened the cockpit's door and wandered in. He gave a callous smirk, "Nice ride there, Gwyn?"

"I'm not cooking your rations for the next twenty shifts," I boldly stated, "you can burn them yourself."

Slap to the face. Gwyn 1, Duke 0.

To make his situation worse, I deftly stole the booze bottle back from Taylor and determinately chugged the remaining amber liquor. Take away a man's meals and he'll go hungry, take away a man's daily booze and he might as well die. I felt mighty high of myself after that, slamming the empty bottle on the table and standing up-

A loud deafening _BOOM_ rent the air. I collided into the table with a painful smack, the bottle hit the floor and shattered. My vision swam, unfocusing, not registering the fact that people had been violently thrown from their chairs, or smashed into walls. A spray of smoke shot forth, an alarm blared above my head. Sparks, warning lights, atmosphere leak!

I gasped and stumbled up, clutching at my bruised side. It felt raw and wet; a hiss escaped my clenched teeth.

Then I spotted the chief, cowboy hat across the floor and a horrible gash to the side of his skull, "Taylor!" I shook his shoulder, "Taylor wake up! Your baby's in trouble!"

Heat of a fire on my skin; Herrick stumbled into the cockpit, rushing to strap himself down. He disappeared from my line of sight, but I heard his rough curse, and the system check he ran through, pulling down handles to equalize the pressure.

"Come on!" Duke helped grab Taylor under the arms, "get him up!"

Another explosion, and Taylor lurched forwards from my grasp as I stumbled to keep balance, glass cutting into my feet. It hurt badly, but there was no time for the pain. I caught hold of Taylor again and helped Duke strap him into a flight chair.

"Where the _fuck_ is Doc?" Duke roared and sped down the hall, "Doc, Doc, you lazy son'of'a'bitch!"

Something behind me banged, the sound of metal grating on metal, ripping down the side of the ship!

"What the hell are you doing to her, Herrick!" I shrieked as I stumbled into the cockpit, just in time to see- "Sweet mother of god!" -the main engine drifting away. Even as we watched, the planet's gravity drew its course, letting the main thrusters burn into nothingness. The _Betsy Daisy_ was falling from the sky, and there was nothing we could do about it!

We would be the same in the matter of moments.

"I'm dumping our cargo!" Herrick reached above his head to a red handle, "It's our only chance!" The crank came down with a push, and I knew the locking mechanisms that held the crew part of the ship to the business part had disengaged, but we were still moving forwards. Duke took the copilots chair, hitting switches and releasing flaps on the ship to increase drag.

I hated myself for thinking the planet was beautiful half an hour before. I hated that I was going to die in this cramped space, nothing left but ashes burnt up by entering the atmosphere. I knew either it would hurt a lot or not at all.

Things that happen like this, this far out in the reaches of mans known universe you never come back from. Alive, that is.


	2. Aftermath

Warning! - - Chapter contains graphic rape! Don't read unless you're 18 or older!

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Chapter 1

* * *

Sparks burned into my skin, the sting rousing me from unconsciousness. At first, I didn't quite understand what I was looking at. I was on my back, and a heavy support beam had literally snapped in half, pinning my abdomen to the ground. The air was hot and didn't fill my lungs - - each breath was half blocked by the steel support; the ship slanted heavily to the right. Above, parts of the _Betsy Daisy's_ hull had been ripped off, exposing the sparking electrical system and the deep purple sky. The hour was between day and night, the sounds of strange snarling animals echoed in the woods.

Then it came back. We'd made entry and crashed. I was still alive.

There was no rush of relief or other emotion, just the thick throb of slowly awakening cuts and wounds. My feet and side hurt, as did my left shoulder, but the _Betsy Daisy_ encouraged me to move by shooting more sparks. I struggled to pull my hips from under the beam; I wasn't a thin girl, but that wasn't to say I was horribly overweight either. I was your everyday space woman: too curvy to be a fashion model, too roughneck to be a girl.

With a grunt of pain, I was free. I sat painfully over my wounds. My feet were treads made of glass and my side had a nice parting gift from the table: two inches of skin shorn away. All had crusted with blood. My shoulder was swollen (I vaguely remembered being thrown against a wall upon collision) and there were other multitudes of scrapes over my pale skin.

So I had been right: 'this is either going to hurt a lot, or not at all.' And it was going to hurt, _a lot_.

Perhaps by some miracle, luck, karma, or God, our stash of booze had spilled across the floor, mostly undamaged from entry. I stretched for the alcohol, vodka by label, and eased it to me. The cap slipped in my hands, unwilling to grant me the liquid courage to do something undoubtedly painful. Seal cracked, I downed the fiery drink with watering eyes. I didn't hesitate to soak it on my feet.

"Sweet mother of God!" my yowl echoed back at me. Nerve endings on fire, I convulsed on the floor, wishing the agony would go away, wishing my spine would snap or stop signaling my brain. It was easier to pick out the glass after that. I meticulously worked through the gashes on my feet, piling shards of the brown glass to the side. My feet bleed freely, and although painful, my knowledge in medicine (what Doc had revealed on long trips) said it was a good sign. The wounds were working to clot. Strips of my shirt served as bandages, tied tight.

With some effort I stood on the outside of my feet and pulled through cords and piping that draped from the ceiling. I swallowed dryly, wincing with each tentative step. The air was dense and humid, thick on the lungs. The cockpit was the same, but the smell was rotten. I soon found out why.

The square viewing shield had burst inwards on impact, small granules of safety glass layering the floor. The motherboard still cycled through binary code, the emergency generator beneath the console chugging along. Most of the lights on the control board had gone out, leaving only the orange, yellow, and white colored plastics against now blackened steels. A hand dangled from the pilots chair, dried with blood.

I swallowed thickly to see Herrick, dead, mouth slack as if screaming, dry brown eyes staring off into the monolithic jungle. The color had drained from his skin, leaving it a sickly yellow from rot; blood trailed down his neck and stained his faded green shirt brown.

I stared at the man I had called my friend, unable to tear my eyes away from the grotesque sight. Then my insides came up to say hello. I turned in time to spill the contents of my stomach on the floor, alcohol and bile clogging my nose with a burn far worse than sparks.

I'd never seen a dead body - - never seen a dead colleague.

Gagging, I caught my breath in time to spill my guts again, before wiping my mouth to will the awful taste away, gagging and shuddering. I couldn't look at him, if I looked at him he'd be dead; if I didn't look, he would still be alive. It was an insane thought.

"Duke?" I choked out, "Captain Mason?" I couldn't be the only survivor. It was improbable. Duke wasn't in his chair - - Taylor wasn't in his chair. Doc and Mason, they weren't even upfront for the crash. "Captain Mason!"

My call echoed drearily down the main deck, followed only by the clanks of thick black tubing banging against the side. I swallowed back acidic fire in my throat and stumbled towards the airlock, a white pressurized door that lead to another that recently lead to space. Jammed open with metal rubble and electronics, it was easy to access the clothing lockers within, but dark from lack of lighting.

I struggled into a grey-blue one piece uniform with a washed out insignia on the upper left pocket, and pulled on a pair of thick leather steel-toe boots - standard issue for the junk business (incase something fell and smashed your feet - - it was much cheaper than reconstructive surgery or prosthetics). I found a bag, and hobbled to search the other holds.

They were empty.

My mouth went immediately dry. They should have been filled with crew uniforms.

"You assholes didn't leave me here," I said meekly. I banged open Duke's locker, the grated door hitting another with a thump. Empty. "Don't leave me here," Doc's locker - - empty, "don't leave me here! God damn it!" I threw my bag against the wall and sank back. "Ohhh, gods, don't leave me here!"

My throat and eyes burned, and no matter the pressure of my palms on my eyes, my face became wet. I was a big girl, I didn't cry. I didn't cry. I wasn't going to cry.

My teeth grit and choked back a sob, holding it in. No man was worth crying over, no man, not even Herrick. I'd get through this. I could get through this.

It took a while to calm down, to put on my poker face, stained with soot and water.

But, with effort, I stumbled up, feeling weak despite my pep talk. I picked up the bag and rummaged for useful items. First was the booze, it was probably the most valuable item that'd been left by the ditching crew. They'd taken their stashed arms of course, all the hoardings of firepower available - - even the gun off Herrick's belt. Our lodgings were mostly intact, as was the med-bay. I found bandages and redid my feet and side. I also smashed open the med-bay's door to get to the emergency first-aid kit.

Too much had been left behind. I also noticed strange mars of the inner hull, like it had been cut through by blades instead of ripped naturally by the crash.

The pantry was still filled with space mush and canned/packaged foods; I had to return with another bag to fully stock up. As I reached down for a can of beans on the floor, I noticed bullet shells, brass colored and cylindrical. Not far away were the actual bullets, looking as if they'd hit target but bounced off. There was also a splatter of a strange green substance on the wall.

And a blood pool, around the corner, splattered and dragged-

I swallowed thickly. Every nerve screamed it was a bad idea, every muscle fiber and ligament in my body. But I had to follow the trail - - someone could still be alive, could be here, could collect my meandering sanity back together.

The blood trail lead to a large hole in the hull, perhaps ten feet above the jungle ground and surrounded by gargantuan trees more than a hundred feet tall, tall enough to tower over the ship. The edges were seared, wide enough for a man to walk through standing straight, other parts torn back by force. Below, on the dark jungle debris, a lone cowboy hat lay, splattered with red.

The horror of the situation hit me, realizing that here was another of my crew that was likely dead, ambushed by the wilds - - my friend and teacher. People have always had an unnatural fear of the woods, and as I stared out into this alien world I felt it full force. Beasts in the woods seemed to call out, screaming their high pitched cries for my flesh… although they had already taken Taylor's.

A few hours passed by the time I was ready to leave the _Betsy-Daisy,_ the bags were heavy on my hips, and agitated my shoulder, but necessary. However, night had settled in and facing whatever was outside without weapons was a no. I'd spend this night here, in my room; but it burned me, the thought of not knowing what had happened to my precious skiff.

Herrick seemed to be the only constant, still sitting in his chair. I took the copilot's seat to collect myself, breaking his dead gaze. Bits of windshield (space-shield in this case,) crunched under my boots; outside a strange animal howled, bugs chattered.

"You weren't supposed to die in this dump, Herrick," only a few more trips and he'd have had enough shares to get out of the junk business, he'd been saving for it. Funny enough, Death took him away at the least opportune time - - figures that he'd die when we finally needed a guard; who the hell robs junk skiffs? My laugh cracked, my throat hurt, "you're a _bitch_, Herrick."

Wiping my eyes, I took a swig of the vodka, fire for my belly. I set it next to him, clenching my jaw until my eyes watered - I imagined him and his stupid grin, taking the bottle for a vertical ride with gullet working hard to swallow - and I told myself my eyes watered only because I was biting my cheek, not because I felt absolutely alone.

"Remember that time I walked in on you having a good time with your left hand?" I said to him, staring out into the deep woods. Most embarrassing moment of my life. The humidity was 100% visible in the air, or maybe that was just smoke from the crash, either way, I couldn't keep my lips from flapping. "The crew had a good laugh over it when they found out. 'Said you was robbin' the cradle by showing me that, swore I was sixteen until you went red in the face - - I was twenty at the time. I kind'a wish you had robbed it. God _damn_, you're such a _bitch_, Herrick!"

I took the bottle back and swallowed another portion, ignoring my running nose. I sniffled and set the vodka aside. Leaning down, I fixated my eyes on the monitor, reaching underneath it to a panel that slid back. Inside was the black box, technological resource to find out what went wrong: the data log of every significant event on the ship. I'd be damned if I didn't find out what happened to my skiff.

I took my time, sniffing and rearranging wires until I found a bundle plugged into the monitor. The lull of work calmed me somewhat, some normal in this awful situation. That's right, take deep breaths, in and out, red wire goes there, the black wire is useless.

"I don't know what happened to Taylor either," I continued softly, "I think an animal got aboard _Betsy-Daisy_ and took him when the crew was- when they were packing up. The mess-hall's a mess, guess that's why they call it that, huh? I saw the cowboy's hat on the ground outside covered with blood… I hope it was quick, real quick."

My throat was tight again, but the talking helped, even if it was to someone who couldn't answer.

I swore and nearly fumbled with the wires in my hands as they sparked, easing the module into place and adjusting the makeshift data-reader. Finally, after a few minutes and a little coercion on my part (threatening the contraption with spillage of alcohol and a good kick), ship statistics upon point-of-failure overrode the binary code on the monitor. I used the small flight-cue keyboard to navigate the long list.

But even after five looks, six looks, I couldn't find what had went wrong. Everything was normal, everything but coolant levels in the main reactor. But coolant couldn't have blown us, its chemical makeup wasn't flammable - - lack of coolant, maybe, had the reactor been running at the time; but it hadn't been because we were orbiting _idle_ around this same god-damned planet. This beautiful, terrifying, planet.

I wanted to curl up, go right back under that metal pole and play dead. Maybe the black box was faulty, it was new, freshly installed by the Company incase something happened to us while finding the _Titan_. But the Company was top notch technology wise, and black boxes were notorious for being tough son of a bitches, able to withstand g-forces of 3400 and temperatures of a 1000 degrees Celsius. Often in ship crashes they were the only discernable object left.

Hunched over, I unplugged the contraption and rubbed weary eyes. The aches in my body had eased to a slow throb thanks to the booze, numbed to the day I would soon face. I raised my sore head and dared a glance at Herrick. How the heat decomposed him so.

"I'm going to bed," I said, staring out into this primal night life. "I'll see you topside, okay?" But I knew I wouldn't.

Morning came all too early. I had spent the night laying in my bed, insomnia taking sleep least what took Taylor took me. Nightmares of the crash plagued me in drowsing moments, I heard the drone of alarms and felt the shudder of the plummeting ship under my feet; this only jolted me awake to the humid interior of my broken skiff, writhing and rolling within my sweat soaked suit until my eyelids finally sank shut once again.

Now I had to move. All the pain in my body came back twice fold, burned and cut, and then stung so deep I wondered if I'd been wounded anew. I donned the bags, found a broken pole of metal for a makeshift weapon, held back the groan, said goodbye to Herrick, and crawled through the pilot window to the forest below.

I rubbed my eyes and made my way to Taylor's hat; the blood was dry and came off with a touch, leaving dark irrefutable stains to their nature. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, clutching the possession close. "She had a good flight, Taylor. One hell-of-a flight." I looked up at the _Betsy-Daisy_, where she rested after plowing through so many trees, her frame covered with debris, dented without care or form. I thought of a tin can, used and thrown away.

Where my crew had gone - Duke, Doc, and Mason - I didn't know. Spooked by whatever took Taylor, they'd probably gone in the opposite direction of the blood trail. But some vain hope made me follow the blood, if only to know what happened to my mentor.

This planet was alien to me. I'd never felt earth under my feet before, only glanced it from a distance on colonies. The soil was dark, too wet to be lit aflame by our crash. Giant, monolithic trees covered with thick green vines, massive leaves, and with tough twisted bark wide enough to encircle six men standing side by side, reached high as I could see. The undergrowth was little from lack of light, tree canopies keeping away the worst of the sun's glare. I trekked long and hard, stopping multiple times to catch my breath over faint blotches of blood.

I was struggling over a large uplifted root when a sharp sound rang out, a low bass growl interrupted by breathy huffs of air. The hair on my neck stood on end, the intense feeling of being watched raced up and down my spine. I slipped to the ground on the other side of the limb, throwing a wary glance around me. The woods were eerily silent now, neither bird nor bug calling from the brush. My back pressed to the tree - - then I saw movement.

Heavily built and reptilian, it could have passed for a wolf in the dark, only that hard bone protrusions from its body and head made it look like a small carnivorous ox. It crouched twenty feet away, snarling low with scaly hackles raised along its back, baring sharp yellow incisors that spelled: "I'm going to rip you to shreds." A part of me thought that if I stayed still, it wouldn't hurt me - - the other knew I had to run.

Its brawny legs tensed and I shrieked, jumping out of the way as it pounced. The heavy jaws snapped at my stinging heels, horns catching at my suit. To my horror, another charged from the left with a vicious bark, herding me towards the right.

Then with a gasp, my foot caught in a nook and tripped me prone, headfirst into a hard rock with splitting pain. The contents of my bags spilled outwards and my pole like weapon was pinned underneath; the massive beast was upon me with its tusks and heavy weight. Paws collided into my back and ivory tore into my already injured shoulder like a hot poker; I screamed loudly and thrashed weakly to throw the beast off. Hot wet blood ran down my arm as a hefty gash ripped through my skin.

I was going to die - - its yellow teeth were around my head-

There was a high resonation whistle in the air, like a master would call his dogs, keening at a strange frequency that make my eardrums shudder. I didn't realize how close it was until the beast let up and I was grabbed at the neck by a massive hand - - hoisted into the air.

I was too dazed to splutter, my eyes verging on rolling into the darkness of my skull at the manhandling. Vaguely I could feel blood sticking my suit to my skin and arm, and the too-large hand wrapped around my neck, turning my head in every direction as if I were a mannequin under inspection. A decidedly fearsome snarl ripped from the creatures throat when my confusion waned.

The alien's grip tightened before I could scream at its horribly callous metal mask, gagging me midair. It was a complete and utter monster, reptilian but humanoid, massively bulked with armor and gory skulls that stood out against its tan and dark green flesh. The armor was gaudy with gold and sliver metals, the faceplate etched into until portions of the mouth area curled sadistically. It must have been seven feet or more in height, the tubular hair like extensions from its head moving as it clicked irately. I didn't want to imagine what its mouth was equipped with.

There was pain as a large thick fist flew into my gut. I was on the ground a moment later, trying viciously not to loose my meager breakfast before a heavy foot kicked me against a tree. I cried out in agony, curling into the fetal position before the pain descended again into my shoulder with a horrible crack. That time I did vomit, choking up bile and what had once been food as my shoulder was forced fully out of socket.

"Stop, for God's sake, stop!" I screamed, only to be grabbed by the collar and flung mercilessly against another tree some feet away. Scrambling to get off the ground as a low gruff sound akin to a chuckle escaped the creature, I found its dogs circling before me, cutting off the path of escape, promising their sharp yellow teeth and horns again.

The foot collided into my back once more, forcing me into the damp earth, heel twisting against my spine. I screamed in rage as asking for mercy made it cruel. "Fuck _you_, motherfucker!"

The instant the last syllable escaped I was on my back with 300 some lbs of pure scaly muscle straddling my waist, the ornate mask leering down in cold anger. I couldn't breathe, let alone scream when it tore at my dislocated shoulder with talon. One long evil looking blade extended from its gauntlet a moment later, pressing against my tender throat, cutting the skin enough for a trickle of blood.

The beast's body heaved with each breath, seeming even larger from my frozen position underneath. The metal dug into my skin, something sharp digging into my thigh as trinket bones dangled from its spiny dreads, chest, and waist.

"_Fuck you, motherfucker!_" my own recorded voice screamed back at me from the mask, followed by contemptible clicks. A low hiss followed another, "_Fuck _you, _motherfucker!_"

I felt ill, but there was nothing left to vomit up.

The alien reached a decision of what to do. It grabbed my face, slamming my head into the ground with a sickening _thud_. Then it was dark.

* * *

The creature's camp was horridly macabre; husks of rotting creatures were strung high from overhead branches, skins and curing pelts stretched between makeshift poles driven into the ground. When I awoke I screamed at the sight of what could have only been Taylor's skinned corpse - - hanging just feet above me. One punch from the massive alien had me unconscious again.

My back was arched painfully against a pole still sticky with sap, my arms tied as high as possible without removing my ass from the ground, and my ankles were bound. Day had turned to night, lit only by the many fires along the ground. Time didn't exist anymore, the hours rolled into days, and each day was the same.

The alien sat on a makeshift bench made from a fallen tree, sharpening a long, serrated, and evil looking blade, day in and out. The same blade, I came to realize, that had nearly slit my throat. Next to its feet the reptilian dogs laid, their dark brown eyes at half mast and their ugly nostrils wide for air; my bags were there as well, rummaged and discarded in disinterest.

The first day had pasted quietly after I'd roused from unconsciousness, ignored by the alien. The heat was still thickening and hard to breathe, and developing clouds promised rain. In continuing days, I was beaten until my weeping stopped altogether. Other days the creature beat me for no reason, days that it hadn't found suitable game to tie up along with Taylor and I. My bones were sore and swollen, my skin felt thin. My only consolation was that Doc, Duke, and Capitan Mason were not along the predator's gory trophies.

Now, this night, the creature continued sharpening its weapon, not interested nor caring I was awake. I gagged on the foul smelling air, desperately not looking at Taylor whose rot had attracted all manner of bugs. I breathed through my mouth, as if that would help, but I could taste the rotten meat. After trying my wire bonds for weakness, and muffling sounds of pain, I settled in defeat. Miserable sweat dripped down my brow and stung my eyes, but I could not wipe it away. My short dark hair felt matted with dirt. I was filthy.

The alien's avocado-colored hide glistened in the little light, lightening to a dark sandy underside. Although armored, most of its body was exposed and covered with a fishnet-like material. Short dark spines stuck out from its shoulders and from under the gold mask. I flinched as the whetstone scraped down the blade, then slotted into the creature's gauntlet.

It stood, dreadlocks clacking with the motion, bones like wind-chimes. The dogs perked at the activity, stretching out their muscular bodies and yawning widely. The nearer snapped viciously at me; I flinched back - - not keen on joining Taylor. Then the creature stood over me with snarl of its own and an evasive gaze. As I expected the next beating, I saw a familiar object attached to its loin cloth. The size of my fist, the five portions that should have flashed red remained still. The thing that was attached to the _Betsy-Daisy's_ hull.

"It was you," I croaked in sudden anger. "You're the one who sabotage- - ghak!"

Its hand squeezed my vocals shut like a vice. I struggled vainly, kicking out with my heavy boots as it loomed too close. Squatted near my level, the alien delivered a back handed slap that left me disoriented and faint. My eyes rolled back, seeing beautiful black before opening to the creatures snarls.

I screamed in pain as the alien twisted me so I faced my bonds, my dislocated shoulder unable to take the strain without screaming itself. Large hands ripped my clothes, shredded the dark uniform with claws. I felt the talons rip too deep, snagging on my discolored skin. Another bang to the head - this time into the pole - cut the shrill sound from my lips. Then the hands were groping at my bottom, tearing away my boy-shorts, the creature huffing and growling.

I wanted to ask what the hell it was doing, what the hell it was looking for. But part of me already knew by the time it was gruffly shoving its own genital coverings out of the way.

A piercing cry escaped me when _he_ pressed his penis against my dry nethers, the weight of his body pinning me to the pole crushed all the air from my lungs; the wood groaned underneath me when I could not, threatening to crack ribs. Then there was a great and indescribable pain that threw everything else from my mind.

My flesh was being ripped, torn in two, my guts were going into my chest cavity. I couldn't breathe. I tasted iron. Then he was hilted and the only thing I could hear was my hyperventilated breaths and the woods, the creature's snorting grunts of pleasure at my humiliation.

When he moved, I could feel the blood going down my thigh, and my insides screamed where I could not. There was only the constant throb of pain, and his beastly hand covering my mouth to stifle my whimpers. Tears went down my cheeks, I felt cold, but his hide was burning hot and slick with a foul smelling sweat that made my head swim.

I was dying.

He continued to thrust his massive organ into my torn belly as I hung lifelessly in my wrist bonds. The decorative armor covering his chest cut into my back where his claws had not. Then it was over. A tidal wave of scalding liquid burst into my womb and the Predator released a deafening roar that quieted the woods. He rocked against me again, once, twice, and I felt something further within me ripping. Our combined liquids slid down my thighs.

I sobbed, crushing my face into the pole and shuddering at the feel of his still hard organ inside me.

"S'yuit-de lou-dte kalei," his horrible guttural voice snarled before he tore away, leaving my body wrecked. My insides throbbed with heat. "S'yuit-de."

It was to be my name.

* * *

Translations:

S'yuit-de: demeaning description, coward

Lou-dte kalei: woman, child bearer

Was the appearance of the bad-blood all you hoped it to be? Tell me what you think of Gwyn, and if her reactions are realistic enough. I'm sorry that the style of writing is jumping around, I've been trying to type a little each day and sometimes without interest.

In further news, thanks to all who alerted, faved, and commented! They're always appreciated.


	3. First Impressions

Warning - - Graphic Rape! Don't read unless you're 18 or older!

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

The fire crackled distantly, rousing me from my coma-like state. Through blurry eyes the low embers glowed warmly, too warm for this heat, too warm for my aching body. I wanted nothing more than to slip back into darkness but found myself unable. My captor had disappeared. I raised my head slightly, looking for the beast dogs in the morning twilight. Something shuffled behind me, and I didn't dare twist to see, I didn't need to. The clicking told me that he was indeed here, the irregular sounds followed by more rummaging. My eyes slipped shut, my head hung wearily.

He wouldn't forget to torment me before he retired, I knew it. A small noise of indignation escaped at the thought, my throat raw and voice hoarse. The clicking stopped, leaving only the sound of the crackling fire. Heavy feet approached and fell silent before mine. Shuddering, I raised my head.

A harshly stark mask met my gaze, carved with meaningless symbols. Instead of piney skin, there was tar black with hints of grey-amber towards his belly; a massive slender body. The tubular, hair-like extensions from his massive head were steel-grey unlike his cohorts ebony-brown and far longer; I took it for a sign of age. His armour was more covering than the other's too, reasonable for someone who looked like he was going into battle at any moment's notice, overlapping down the chest and along the back. This one too had bone trophies adorning his hair and body, along with the mesh and odd weapons. Strings of precious gems were intertwined with the hair, strings of animal teeth and small vicious skulls crisscrossing the chest and neck. One was a human head.

Then the moment of interest was over and I swelled with fear. His cohort had already done much - - what would he do?

The hulking form bent to closer inspect me, a monstrous hand probing at my dislocated shoulder to earn a broken hiss. He plucked at my ripped uniform, testing the frayed material with black-lustrous claws. His hard knuckles brushed over the underside of my breasts and I became stalk still, blank thoughts and frantic breathing my only whim.

"Please don't," I rasped at him, "don't."

His head tilted, the mask turning towards my face. Those dark impenetrable visors stared down my eyes with a frightening intelligence. Clicks were my answer, sharp and near growling. All attentions went back to my injured body and the juncture of my legs. The touch was invasive; clawed, calloused, thick fingers wedging between my aching thighs and inside me without mercy. I cried out as my injured passage savaged my nerves in protest. By the time I kicked at the monster, he'd already withdrawn his digits, now sticky with a creamy substance and faintly red with my blood.

I gagged at the proof of last nights encounter. It really had happened. My eyes nearly rolled into the back of my head, but that wasn't to be. For a long moment, I damned myself as roughneck - - I was too strong willed to faint.

He tested the sheen between his fingers, and his low clicks cut to abrupt silence. The crackling fire in his black visor-eyes turned away as he raised his clean hand to loosen his alien mask. A jet stream of air escaped the unattached hose with forceful suction as his hand coated in bodily fluids raised close. Huffing, he smelled the sticky substance.

A bark of surprise burst forth from the creature's chest, head whipping towards me with a clacking of hair ornaments. My eyes welled with tears at unheard accusations behind the mask, mouthing silently until I felt the weight of my situation upon me and my head fell forwards.

I wasn't going to cry, I wasn't, I wasn't. My eyes squeezed tightly shut, shoulders shaking with each little sob that threatened to break away. Then a hand fell on my head and I jumped, nearly screaming murder, but my voice was hoarse and all that escaped was a shrill cry. However, the contact was not meant to cause pain, and the heavy petting motion across my dirty hair threw my brain into overdrive.

Perhaps it was meant to be soothing, but there was no comfort in the action when it came from the very race that did this to me. I tensed as the creature slowly reached into a leather pouch attached to his belt. He pulled forth a long, clear, cylindrical container filled with bright blue liquid, still petting across my hair, claws catching against scabs on my scalp.

I dared to question his cold mask with my eyes, and a fist was made in my locks. The pulling at my follicles was sharp, sharp enough to make me question what exactly he was planning to do with that liquid that he had to hold me still. With a strong pull, my head was forced down and my wild eyes flickered to the container as the top popped open-

But the lapis colored liquid halted midway as a vile roar burst from the trees. The new predator whirled towards the forest - - only to catch a bright flash so intense it singed my skin.

I realized then that they weren't buddies.

He was thrown backwards with a spray of sparks, the liquid flying out of my sight, only to collide hard into a rocky outface with his own enraged bellow. Part of the dark rocks gave way as he righted himself. But the beast-dogs had arrived. One leapt high into the air and went for the throat - like they were no doubt trained - but with a sickening crack the dark-colored alien brought his elbow into the creature's side. The dog caterwauled in agony, landing painfully into the dirt, ribs visually broken in - - but the other was charging. This one too jumped, but caught by the throat it could not bite. Instead, snarling and slashing with powerful limbs, its neck was dutifully snapped.

What happened next, I'm not sure. One moment the dark alien was standing upright, and in the next, with a shower of scintillant blue sparks, the original collided into the newcomer. The dogs were dead. The melee took to the ground, yowls and hisses, and there was a shocking splatter of glowing green into the night as the smaller was thrown bodily away.

Back on their feet, the pair circled each other like fighters in the ring, only this was for keeps. Whoever fell first wasn't getting up again. The obviously younger beast jeered at the elder with jerks and vicious hisses, a diagonal line of claw marks cutting across his exposed abdomen. A malicious part of me felt pleased that that monster was injured.

Not cowed by the taunts, the elder let out a roar and spread his arms wide in aggressive posture. Then it was another collision, double wrist-blades meeting single in a steeling scrape. Gray-Hair thrashed the fiend's side with his foot, grabbing the monster's arm and pulling forwards while simultaneously driving his bladed fist forwards into the other's already wounded hide.

But at the last moment, the blaster on the other's shoulder flew into gear. There was a brilliant display of blinding light and I squeezed my eyes against the sun-spots. Rubble fell to the ground, along with a metallic sounding "thump!" I opened my eyes to the plain mask at my feet, burned brown-cinder red, half of the left side missing. Then my head jerked up to see the victor.

My rapist.

A lion-like roar of triumph echoed over the still form of Gray-Hair, and for one long agonizing moment I thought he was dead. His face was covered in luminous green blood and he laid still against the ground. When his chest drew a slow breath, I released my own. An indiscernible feature of his face twitched, followed by a low groan.

The winner was not content to kick Gray-Hair when he was down, like me. Before the elder could regain his wits, the avocado alien produced a long cord of steel-rope and bound the delirious alien's limbs in such a manner that he was stretched lengthwise along the ground. Then the bastard dragged Gray-Hair to two poles and tied his arms to one, and his feet to the other; both were far away enough that the position would be uncomfortable. All assortment of weapons and armor were removed from the elder, creating a dull pile in the too quiet night.

I could only watch. I never uttered a sound through the fight or this process.

By that time Gray-Hair had recovered from the blast. He was not happy with his situation and let out a fearsome snarl - - it was cut off by a hefty kick to a now unprotected side, and another, and another. I could have screamed at the cowardliness of it all. The elder took it with further complaint, and the beating became worse. A fist to the face was followed by a loud crack as the other grappled at the mouth. A bellow of rage followed an awful ripping snap-

"-Stop it!" my voice welled up without my knowing, "B_astard_!"

The monster whirled towards me, and I realized my error as his dark hair clacked, his chest heaving in massive breaths. His fist clutched a talon-like appendage that was thrown down in rage. In three paces he was before me and his rough hand, sticky with the other's green blood, strangled my throat.

"S'yuit-_de_!" he barked out, shaking me, banging my bruised skull against the pole. A distant roar met my ears. But I couldn't shrink back.

I struggled for air, head forced back enough to see Taylor's mangled corpse leering down with empty sockets (bugs had eaten the softest tissues first). I choked on tears for a long moment, seeing what I had tried so badly not to see. Oh gods. My attention flew back to the bastard with another roar, his dark visor staring into my soul, trying to steal it.

"S'yuit-de lou-dte kalei!" He snarled as the blood drained from my face, slamming my head again into the pole. It ached.

His wrist-blade traced the underside of my chin. Another distant bellow burst forth from Gray-Hair, and the bastard turned to snarl back. Beyond the massive spine covered shoulder, I saw the near nude predator struggling in his bonds. The one who strangled me calmed, his hellish rant falling into clicks, and then into silence, indecisive.

He snapped towards me.

Faster than I could follow, the blade cut through the bonds on my feet and arms, although my hands remained bound. I didn't think for a second he would set me free. Huge fingers grabbed my hair, dragging me across the ground; rubble and discarded bones cut at my clothes, scraping across my body as I shrieked and struggled against the powerful grip. With a final forceful pull, I was right next to his other prisoner. A clear look at the _thing's_ face made me shriek again.

Piercing yellow orbs glared in rage from under heavy brows, set in dark black sockets. He had no nose, only a flap of skin that lead into a dangerous maw of six canine-fangs surrounded by powerful mandibles tipped with cracked, dangerous tusks - - the upper left one had been torn straight off. Vivid green blood pooled forth from the damaged appendage, along from cuts and mars created by the plasma blast. Many gray quills decorated the sloping and ridged crown before turning into thick grey tresses.

A moment later I found myself astride the bulky body. My veins turned to ice, hands braced on the creature's solid chest, body rocked nauseously up and down with each powerful breath. The elder was enraged by this strange torment that that bastard had made for us and immediately bucked to dislodge my comparatively small form, snarling out. My limbs shook horribly in terror and I cried from the jarring sting it caused, trying with all my might to push away from the alarming humanoid. But the foot suddenly lodging itself into my spine made that impossible.

"S'yuit-de," the beast behind me purred sadistically, twisting his armored heel until I lay flush against Gray-Hair's massive torso, until I groaned and clawed at the dense hide under my fingers.

To complete his game the evil monster straddled my back as well, crushing my hips into the other's cloth covered groin. My thighs ached, I couldn't draw breath - - the breaths that came were sharp and too fast. Flashes of the rape came back to me too quickly. The elder let loose another frightening string of guttural snarls, words that had no meaning. He'd stilled, but strained still against his bonds, his devil-eyes piercing the beast behind me.

That singular blade traced along my jaw, a heavy hand pressing me into the living torso below. I trembled, strangely aware of little details, the dry but smooth feeling of the dark hide under my palms, the grossly musky scent of decomposing flesh in the air (Taylor's flesh, I told myself), the sensation of Gray-Hair's language rattling into my body. The undeniably male lump underneath his loin cloth. I shuddered and squeezed my eyes tight shut, trying to distance myself from this nightmare.

"S'yuit-de," followed a firm press on my back as the horrible beast shifted back, retracting the blade.

I gasped for air and opened my eyes, only to meet piercing amber orbs. The bleak knowledge there - knowledge of what was to happen - took away hope. When I heard the rattle of armor being removed, I sobbed outright. I struggled desperately to escape. Gray-Hair did not hiss as my bound hands frantically gripped at his thick shoulders, he did not snarl or try to impede me in anyway - - he tried to help (I would later realize), but it did more harm than good.

His hips bucked upwards in a final attempt to dislodge myself and my captor. However, in the awkwardness of our positions, it seemed like something quite different. My fingers curled into the bumpy hide as my body curved into his chest, burying my face down until the only thing I could hear was my own ear-piercing scream. My captor laughed, his hand tracing down my bared, sweat-slicked spine.

"S'yuit-de lou-dte kalei," he purred at me a final time.

Claws tore my clothes, shredding the faded-navy uniform away completely, leaving my torn tank-top. I didn't dare open my eyes to see the mess that was my body, I didn't dare stop hyperventilating - - it was the only thing keeping me sane. That sick bastard slid back, pawing at my ass, spreading those cheeks wide. When I felt the tip of his hard organ press against a different hole than before, my eyes popped open in horror to the elder. His mandibles spread wide, hissing dangerously.

"Ki'dte!" Gray-Hair's snarl ran up my arms, "ve'nde thwei!"

The answer was pure agony.

The monster pressed forwards. It felt as if I were being split in two, or sawed into with a serrated knife, because my body wouldn't accept him, but he tried all the same. A wheeze escaped me and nothing more. Yellow eyes snapped to my own. I don't think I would ever forget the expression on his face, the upper mandibles tucking in and the lower spreading towards me as the brow furrowed - - as if this process hurt him too; in some odd way, I believed it.

Then with a sickening ripping sensation, that bastard was inside. His delighted hiss was covered by my terrified cry, which in turn was covered by the enraged roar of the massive body under me. I bit my tongue and blood welled in my mouth. As quickly as he had entered, the monster mounting me pulled back and thrust forwards again. A horrible red heat tore through me and down my legs. Each plunge rocked my body forwards and each withdraw pulled me back, grinding my body into rough black scales and against a harshly heaving chest.

And through it all those gold eyes held mine.

Those hips slammed forwards again and my eyes squeezed tightly shut, choking back bile as the thick shaft hilted, sliding easier from blood. Then I felt what my involuntary grinding did to the one below me, a hardened length pressing against the apex of my thighs, hot tears running down my cheeks. The alien under me twitched, unwilling to participate in this disgusting act, his muscles strained and flexing.

An amused trill sounded over us, interspaced with winded huffs for air. I thanked the gods when all movement stopped - - then quickly took those vows back. Gray-Hair barked horrendously as the bastard reached under me and shoved Gray-Hair's cloth away, so that it was his semi-erect cock against my flesh.

I refused to think, I refused to be here. I wasn't being raped. I was on the _Betsy-Daisy_, and this… this was a dream. A horrible, horrible dream. But very real snarls proved different.

I was lifted like a rag doll, a muscular arm wrapped around my waist to hold me upright and over the other's organ. No amount of struggling on either my or Gray-Hair's parts could stop what was about to happen, and we both knew it.

"A'suh'ssi'asas:" the avocado colored monster hissed, to declare a title, "Dtai'pyode amedha pauk-de." And with that, he impaled me.

"Ah!" I wailed as both my holes were stretched to their fullest. The smell of my blood filled the air. My head lolled forwards to see the elder's toss back, eyes wide as his mutilated mandibles stretched outwards in a macabre dance. A rattling breath filled the air before his head snapped forwards and a heavy grunt came forth.

And then that beast slammed me prone on Gray-Hair's chest, his wide hand spanning my shoulders. He humped me wildly once again. Each powerful thrust jarred me back on their shafts and I cried out in agony as more tissue ripped, feeling my inside pinch and move in ways it wasn't designed to. I writhed and begged illegibly for it to end into the dark chest, face hot with tears. My heart was in my throat, my insides were on fire. I couldn't breathe, my ribs were killing me.

"Stop," I groaned out, "stop…"

Then the motions became rougher, more urgent, and I felt the cock in my ass swell. Lava exploded into my bowels. A violent roar went up. My body clenched, shuddering against each thick, sloppy pulse. It was over.

"S'yuit-de," the younger alien slurred, dismounting. I howled out when his still hard shaft slipped free, spraying a little more of his seed along my back. A massive hand slapped down on my bruised thigh and I curled further inwards to the body below me, as if I could hide. Paws held my ass cheeks apart, allowing the bloody goop to spill forth.

Then I realized in horror that there was still a cock inside. I sobbed, trying my best to pull off of the alien under me, but found my bones had turned to mush, and that my arms refused to work. All movements screamed. Further more, the torment was not truly over. Massive alien hands wrapped around my waist and moved me up and down. Gray-Hair jerked and snarled, but with all my fear of him and his kind, I hadn't the strength to struggle away.

His breathing pattern changed, huffing deep, too fast. My insides were fully shredded, hot and burning around him. I thought vaguely that I had actually split in two merely from his size. Those evil hands moved me faster, bouncing my body up and down the length until Gray-Hair let out a nasty snarl and his body tensed with a strangled hiss. He swelled, and I was slammed as far down as I could go with my own cry - - he hit my cervix and came, hard. I could feel each pulse of seed coating the inside of my belly. I couldn't stop staring in horror.

Those mandibles fell slack, dark sockets closing to mere slits of eyes. The monster behind me released me and I fell gracelessly forwards onto a heaving chest. Quills stuck at my skin. The bastard stomped around the camp as alien I straddled did nothing except breathe, deep and slow, calming my scarred mentality; even his now soft cock brought me pain.

I finally fell quiet, unable to cry anymore. The muscles beneath me rippled and rolled to the side. I slipped free, panting brokenly for long moments. I was aware that I was still laying next to the giant alien, but hadn't strength to move. The rough skin felt hot on my arm, but my body was hotter. My mind whirled, my eyelids dropped. Had Gray-Hair been human, his expression might have been much the same.

His mandibles clacked together and the slatted gold eyes slid towards me. I couldn't meet the gaze.

* * *

I was delirious with fever. I couldn't feel my body anymore, and when the Devil grabbed my hair again, dragging me back to Taylor, I was pleasantly immune to his rough touch. He didn't bother tying me again - - he didn't think I'd survive either.

But my luck was too good. It would have been easier to die.

Taylor stared down at me, red-skinned flesh and empty sockets and grinning teeth. In my mind, he still had the blue eyes and dark stubble. "You're a bitch too, Taylor," I vaguely remember mumbling at the corpse, as if it could talk back, "friggin' cowboy." Mental illness had high probability.

Back on the ship, the AC had broke before, leaving _Betsy-Daisy_ in a state of utter heat. I thought I was there, and the low rumbles (the reactor, I thought distantly) didn't help. Because Taylor was there, grinning at me, everything was alright.

"The- the AC needs to be fixed," I managed to croak out, before a deafening _BOOM_ rent the air in two. There was an explosion of water moments later, heavy and wet. It felt good on my skin, and that's all that mattered. A flash of lightning cut the sky, barely visible through the thick canopy. I opened my parched mouth and let the rain in.

My blurry vision focused on the monster standing nearby. The gold decorative mask looked skywards and his suit crackled blue against the rain. He tapped at his wrist console, once, twice, snarled and walked out of my line of sight. Another flash of lightning split the air and I closed my eyes. There was the sound of engines, not human engines though. The roar faded into the thunder.

"Company installed tons of new equipment on her, didn't they, Taylor?" my throat felt better, now that it was wet. "But no matter who we update from, the AC remains broke."

Capitan Mason hated that too. On bad days, he'd spend his entire time in the mess-hall pantry, soaking in the cold while his employee's went around their miserable shifts. He was fortunate that there wasn't much need of a Captain on a junk-skiff's bridge. His face always seemed dopey, and his dark skin always had a sheen of fine sweat, but he had amazing street smarts. He was liable for getting twice the payoff for all junk we towed, and his hookers for half price. Not that half price hookers do a better _job_.

My mumbles faded away into another roar of thunder. Beneath that, there was a low hum that I could not place in my dazed senses. It wasn't a calming sound to _me_, deep and bass purrs that came from Gray-Hair. The kind of sound you'd make to a dying animal - - the animal being me. In the heat, his chest barely rose and fell, but the sound came forth all the same.

"I wanted to kill him," the words just came out, causing Gray-Hair to fall silent. When I said no more he started again. I didn't doubt he wanted that bastard dead as well, but I doubted severely that he could understand me. I was dead either way.

Gray-Hair pulled his bonds, gold eyes glowing through the heady mist. It came back to me how unfair it was for the both of us to be destined to this fate, and if it were true, and I were to die, then this creature at least deserved his own chance. I pulled myself across the camp, over bone and carcass. Before my brain could comprehend that this could very well earn my death, my fingers were fumbling against the steel cords binding his wrists.

The purrs fell eerily silent into the pitter-patter of water against his hide, against the mud that I kneeled in. I didn't care to think that he would finish what he had started when he first appeared, that he may repeat earlier events. All I knew was he had the better chance to kill that bastard, and I'd be happy either way.

My heart pounded in my ears and my blood rushed against my brain. It took every effort to stay awake. "If I'm going to die, then you shouldn't," I reasoned to the beast. "Someone has to _kill_ that motherfucker."

With that, the knot was undone.

* * *

Translations:

A'suh'ssi'asas: arbitrator.

Ki'dte: enough.

Lou-de Kalei: child bearer.

Dtai'pyode amedha pauk-de: "the soft-meat fucker."

Soft-meat/Pyode amedha: humans.

S'yuit-de: coward, low and demeaning description.

Ve'nde Thwei: bad-blood.

Thanks to callmebaby'08', amber white, and cyrosian for your reviews! You all get invisible internet cookies~! :D


	4. Freedom

Chapter 3

The knot was undone, snapping off his wrists with a metallic twang. Gray-Hair sat up, ripping the cord that bound his clawed feet. His bare hide was slick with the rain. Each heavy drop pushed me into the ground, and I let it. Or I would have, had not a massive hand taken hold of my shoulder and held me upright.

There was a horrible snapping noise, and a horrible pain; I thought he'd ripped my arm clean off. What a way to say 'thanks-for-letting-me-loose.' However, I immediately realized he'd forced my dislocated limb into socket - - the pinching sensation disappeared, but my arm was still attached. Then I was on my feet and so was he. He was tall, very, very tall, two or three heads taller than I; I barely came to his pectorals. I mumbled as much and Gray-Hair trilled lowly.

Keeping on my feet was hard, my knees verged on buckling. His other hand grasped my swollen face as my eyes rolled into my skull. It wasn't a light grasp, it felt like my grandmother was pinching my cheeks in reverse.

Gray-Hair's three cracked tusks clacked together in contemplation, and his steely gold eyes captured mine. We had a non-verbal conversation, or, that's what it felt like. I was tired, I wanted to go to sleep - - a sleep I wouldn't wake up from. If Gray-Hair killed that monster, I could die in peace; I willed him to kill. But most of all, I let him see how much it killed me that I couldn't do it myself. I wanted to wrap my hands around that Asshole's slimy green heart and squeeze the life out, give him as much pain as he'd given me.

Gray-Hair's eyes said one thing back, and I focused on his gold orbs for they were the most human thing about his wholly alien face. There were no sentences, just a steely understanding. He understood that I needed revenge.

With that, his grip withdrew, and the mud flew up to greet me.

Ujik'va had not expected the ooman to fall. When the female didn't move, the arbitrator hunched and turned her onto her back. She took labored breaths, the strange fleshy mouth parted widely. The mammal was dhi'ki-de, unconscious, near death. The cold rain interfered with his vision; if it weren't for her fierce fever he would not be able to see her. Ujik'va smelled the sickly sweet aroma of infection and clacked his tusks irresolutely once again.

Help the ooman or hunt the bad-blood.

He had hunted the pyode amedha before, in his youth shortly after chiva. At that time they had been less advanced, unable to travel further than the fourth planet in their solar system. Surprising for any Prey. As a whole, the species was kwei, sly and tricky. Ujik'va wore the skull of one of their trickiest, a male who had proven himself honorable prey and had nearly took Ujik'va with him in death. Ujik'va had a gouging scar across his chest as proof. That was many years before becoming Arbitrator.

In contrast to the males, Ujik'va knew little of their females. He had seen them on his sojourn, frail looking things that painted their faces and bathed in potent fragrances that burned his olfactory tissues. Strangely enough, it seemed to attract their mates. From what he'd seen, the females were smaller than their male counterparts and took majority care of offspring. They were also less aggressive and thus he had not spent his time hunting them - - they were only violent when they were with child, and to hunt them then was to label one's self as bad-blood.

Bad-blood had never entered Ujik'va's lineage before; his sire a lone Warrior, his bearer High Matriarch of the Y'tekujte: both were mighty. They upheld their honor, but now Ujik'va did not know where he stood. It made him uncertain, a rare and dangerous mood for the yautja. He had defiled the ooman and injured prey that was unable to fight. The Bad-Blood had done the same. He could feel Disgrace crushing into his chest; surely he had tainted his line as ve'nde thwei. His own females would never look upon him with smiles again. There would be no more mating for the "dtai'pyode amedha pauk-de." The arbitrator did not know how to judge himself.

Yet the ooman had helped him. Perhaps she knew not of honor, but she released him. Brave prey. It was not her fault that he had been weak. The female before him was strong. She had been honorable to him - - oomans were rarely honorable.

Ujik'va's mandibles tightened in remembrance of terror on her ugly alien features. He carefully cradled the limp body, standing and moving out of the rain. The ooman shifted, digging blunt nails into his chest - - the sting was nothing.

Ujik'va would return her favor.

His drop-ship was a few hundred noks from the camp, and he called it by remote. The bad-blood had been overconfident, had not thought to the arbitrator getting loose, and had left Ujik'va's awu'asa nearby, stripped of weapons but little else. The weapons were not a hard dealt loss - - there were plenty more on the ship. The bad-blood would pay for his foolishness; Honor called for nothing less than a painful death.

Inside the misty environ of his shuttle, Ujik'va laid the small body of the human on his metal work-table and set to with a med-comp. Blue-flame merged into cauterizing gel, and he took the metal scoop. Ooman women were fragile things. Pain from the medicine may have killed the Prey hadn't she been dhi'ki-de.

He worked.

* * *

Hot, burning, oil, smoke. A sweltering atmosphere, I couldn't breathe. There was a blackness, a blackness I associated with the void of space. It was cold there, deathly cold. Then stars filled the darkness, and I took a deep breath of that oily air. Clattering greeted me, a trill, and despite the warning in my head I reacted instantly. I struck out. That Asshole was out there, my tormenter, my rapist, that fucking killer of my crew!

Somehow I'd been freed from my pole, somehow, I'd been put on a ship. There was little light, an undulating orange-yellow glow and swirling mist. In retaliation to my punch, that Asshole grabbed me with a bark, and I snarled back as best I could, my best imitation of his "fuck off." There was more rage than fear as I struggled against the massive form, more blood running in my veins than oxygen.

I thrashed half from where I lay before I heard the noise: deep, bass - - like the engine of a ship. Then my oxygen ran out and my vision darkened momentarily. I felt sore, heaving for breath that wouldn't come, barely on my legs.

"Fuck you!" I called, jerking weakly against the massive biceps crushed around my torso, pinning my arms by my sides. I couldn't claw, couldn't fight. I was mashed against his front, slick with oily sweat. "Fuck you, fuck you! Fuck _you_!"

Let it be said that women bite. I bit so hard I tasted copper, not iron.

A startled howl escaped him, but he would not let go. His arms tightened and bulged and so did my teeth; more musky oil filled my nose with a sharp breath and my throaty scream. Then that purr jumped back, louder than before, rumbling through the leathery chest and into my not-so pearly whites.

It was a stalemate, and the bitter burn of tears filled my eyes as I clenched them tight. I couldn't win, would never win. I relented my grip. The thrumming sound pressed into me until I quivered and slowly, cautiously, the beast drew back.

It wasn't him. It wasn't who I thought.

I shuddered on my precarious perch, unable to stop the shakes. It was as if my body had gone into shock, and my brain had yet to catch on.

Gray-Hair's gold eyes were luminous in the dark, cat-like. His specie's glowing blood trickled down his broad chest before he gruffly wiped it away. The massive humanoid towered and I shrank back as best I could, breath shuddering in my chest. The tusks clattered together, purr interrupted by clicks. Then the clawed hand landed on my shoulder. I was forgiven.

It was the strangest version of a bro-greeting I'd ever received, but I knew the motions well enough.

He shook me, although my tense body resisted the shove. Gray-Hair's cracked tusks splayed, a language I couldn't understand grinding from his chest and throat. The motion was repeated again, rougher, and my mind screamed. Fingers twitching, it took every ounce of will in my body to raise my hand, every ounce of effort to choke back on fear, and stretch my palm to his spiny shoulder. I could barely return the gesture I trembled so bad, but I did, and he trilled in alien pleasure.

The hand withdrew to pet my short mud-caked hair, then the alien turned, knocking precious bindings in his locks together. He left me stunned in the bowels of this strange alien ship.

I was alive, and I hurt, but I was alive. A sense of numbness, dark, warmth, nothing more.

A hiss escaped my clenched teeth when I flexed my limbs. I was naked, felt open and wrapped my arms around myself. My back burned, my feet burned, and my shoulder - - that was the improvement. I slid to the floor fog. It was hip high, swirling around my legs as I lurched forwards. The ship was small and its ramp was lowered; I made it to fresh air.

The camp sprawled before me, misty after rain. Rain clouds rolled away overhead, yet light peaked through the trees. How long had I been out? There was only one certainty, that that Asshole had gone, abandoned ship for better grounds.

A trill. Slowly I faced Gray-Hair. He surveyed me with those sharp gold eyes and his crab-like face stretched with another breath. His eyes forced conversation, but I did not know what more to say.

"My name is Gwyn Worthington," the words escaped me, as if I were trying to convince myself as well as him. "Not s'yuit-de." I mangled his language.

Gray-Hair's disturbing tusks tapped together, and now I could see he had cauterized the broken mandible, stumpy in the light.

"Gwyn Worthington," I said again, stronger despite my cracking voice. I pointed at myself, "Gwyn."

"Kua-yn," he rumbled, eyeing me. He splayed his taloned hand on his chest and said his own. "Ujik'va."

"Oojick-vah," I struggled.

Another stalemate. I shook faintly. My neck felt tense.

Then a light hit his eyes, deep and piercing. Gray-Hair motioned, bestowed me his own name. "Yeyinde," he purred, sounding each syllable ,"Yey-in-day."

"Yey-in-deh," an instinctive praise, a mockery of the other's name: s'yuit-de. I accepted it, and finally, after what felt like years, a touch of a smile lit my face. I gave Ujik'va his own. "Gray-Hair."

I could not read his alien face well, but Gray-Hair's upper mandibles spread in a imitation of my own expression and he shook my shoulder once again. "Yeyinde," he clattered as I raised my own hand.

I returned the gesture, "Gray-Hair." For better or for worse, we were together.

I cut Taylor down. His clothes had been ripped off before he'd been skinned, and relatively clean besides a large splatter of blood down the front. Hopefully his death had been quick. I squeezed my hips into the trousers and buttoned what buttons remained on his shirt. Taylor's funeral was quick at least; I pulled him over still hot coals and burned the body until only bones remained. Gray-Hair watched silently.

My bags were still intact and I tore into them with a ravenous hunger. Even soy-pro and dried bean curds, obstinately the worst of the worst food I had scavenged from the _Betsy-Daisy_ a week before, was a feast.

Gray-Hair now prepared the ship, a work of art if I'd ever seen one. Like an oversized bug, the metal hull shined brightly in the afternoon sun with a slightly blue sheen that hinted at iridosmium ore. The backside had three thrusters built in a way I had never seen, advanced beyond my human knowledge. If the technology was anything, I would guess it flew faster than the _Betsy-Daisy_ too, with far more maneuverability on terra.

The Company would kill to get their greedy paws on it. I hope they never did.

As the alien vessel roared into life, I only had the thought of revenge on my mind. Crashing, waking up to this horrifying world, and abandoned by my crew. Revenge was all I had left. I told myself that again and again, and it burned true in my gut and mind.

"Yeyinde," Gray-Hair's snarl reached over the roar of the ship, motioning inside with a claw. I turned towards him, taking a final hard look into the trees. He called for our lift off to hunt his own kind and I know not why he began.

I'd just stepped onto the ramp when I heard it - - no, heard them, crashing through the undergrowth! "Gwyn! Wait Gwyn! Holy- Gwyn-! Look out!-"

-And Gray-Hair whirled away from the ship as a spray of bullets clattered against the hull, but did little damage. There was the engines and the roar of Gray-Hair, the sound of my crew yelling at me to get the fuck-away-from-that-ugly-mother-fuckin'- bastard, and the void in my head that said it wasn't real.

And then suddenly Gray-Hair was between them. Captain Mason and Duke were backhanded to the ground. A spray of red flew into the air. Gray-Hair's free hand clamped tight around Doc's sweaty, grimy neck, and drew him up - much like he had done with the alien dogs - an enraged roar escaping his lungs-

"Wait!" My crew, it was my crew! It wasn't a dream! "Gray-Hair, wait! - lower your weapons!"

Doc had dropped his own gun in order to grasp Gray-Hair's arm. Doc was a tall man, no doubt about that, but next to the eight foot humanoid he was a bug, a lady bug next to a grizzly. Mason and Duke found themselves, rolled and trained their barrels on my alien friend.

"Stand down!" I urged them, rushing between them and the Predator.

"Are you insane?" -Mason- "That thing's been attacking us-!"

"It wasn't him! There's another one, he- this one's the good guy!"

"Well, fuck-you," -Duke- "I'm gettin'-"

"Can you fly his ship?" I burst, "because you know alien technology, don't you? I'm the mechanic, and I can barely understand right from left in the control module! Unless you want to wait for the Company Marines to show up months from now, this is your only ride! Betsy-Daisy's toast, there's no pods on her, but you knew that, right!"

Tension, and the heat didn't help. My crew were tired, dark circles under their eyes. Their fingers itched on the triggers, sweat dripped from their dirty brows. Gray-Hair was still, his ebony hide glossy-looking in the light. His fangs tapped against his inner teeth, yellow gaze furious on the rifle and smart-gun.

Captain Mason was no fool - - that was why I signed up with him. He lowered his weapon. "We thought you were dead, girl." His stare was cautious with defeat.

Begrudgingly, Duke did the same. Doc slipped free from the claw and fell on his backside, coughing and gagging. Relieved, I tentatively placed myself at Gray-Hair's side. The mandibles flared and my pulse raced.

I hesitated to reach his shoulder with my hand. I grasped the quilled flesh, and gripped tight. "Please…?" I did not know how far our alliance reached. My crew had fired on him, what seemed to be for my sake, but their first impressions were not good. I did not know if I could leave them behind. If I remained I would surely never have revenge - - a revenge to my knowledge.

_But they left you behind_, my mind replied. _You could do the same to them_. Mason said they hadn't known. They thought I was _dead_.

Gray-Hair snarled viciously, and I jerked away from his heaving body, his oily musk thick in the air. The beast turned and entered the ship, disappearing into the bowels. The platform did not raise, remaining open for us to follow.

"Looks like we have ourselves a ride. What a woman you are, Gwyn." Doc's hand touched my shoulder and I startled slightly, not expecting him so close.

I drew away. I felt happy and bitter all at once. I settled with a half frown, "don't thank me," I said, to make clear on my standing with the Big Guy in the ship. "Thank _him_."

We filed in, and the ramp lifted behind us until an airtight seal was heard closing in. The air was still thick, a taste of methane in my lungs, but breathable. Immediately afterwards, the ship lurched to motion underfoot, causing stumbles all around, and bodies to brace against the walls. But the crew was exceedingly happy to get off that jungle-rock, to head back - where exactly, I didn't know. Home? Home had been our ship.

Mason swore at the heat inside the vessel, and I agreed. But apparently Gray-Hair liked it hot.

"How did you get this ET?" Doc asked what burned in all their eyes. His caramel skin was the least sweat soaked. His hazel eyes flashed with curiosity. "That was the other ET's camp back there, wasn't it? What were you doing there? We had the place staked out - - we followed an old trail from the Betsy-Daisy."

I felt instantly sick at the answer, and there was only the rocking of the ship as we climbed though atmosphere to freedom. The rise was steady and amazingly stable. The will to recount my horrors on the planet was replaced by the overwhelming urge to view the ship's reactor and command.

"The other captured me when I went looking for you," I admitted, working around the worst details. My voice quivered, but never broke, "Gray-Hair… we helped each other escape." If they knew I had revealed less than the whole, but never asked, and for that I was grateful. "What happened to you?"

"Duke said you were dead," Captain Mason threw a nasty look at the greasy pilot. "Said he couldn't find you - then that other bastard hit us and we had to get out. Been running around the jungle since, trying to avoid his traps."

I had been pinned in the middle of the hall - - Duke would have had to climb over me.

_He left me there to die_.

Duke cleared this throat. His narrow eyes met mine then turned away. "Doesn't matter, does it? She's right h-"

I slugged him - - his nose crunched under my fist. The blow fell him into the bulkhead of the ship with a nasty thunk. But I was on him before Mason's hands were dragging me back.

"I was right there!" I shrieked, grabbing his jacket to deliver another blow. "You left me!"

I punched and punched, and Captain Mason was struggling to pull me away as Doc held back Duke. Blood ran from his broken nose, but all he did in reply was salute the bird. I didn't have any tears left in me, there wasn't time, and this definitely wasn't the place. I was strong, Gwyn Worthington was strong, stronger than that ass-wipe. He'd left me alone, thinking I'd die and he wouldn't have to bother. Duke had left me and I'd been raped.

I howled and lunged again, but that time my howl was echoed back by a larger entity and our melee was torn full apart.

* * *

Ujik'va shoved the three males aside from the female with a sweep of his arm. Yeyinde wasn't in the condition to fight, no matter her grudge against her own pack. He knew not what had changed in their relations, only that the small female's anger was thick and the blood from the bull-male's olfactory organ was caused by her 'va carefully restrained the woman as she lunged again for the male.

Gathering his willful charge back, Ujik'va gave an angry roar to cower the pack before separating the female. He was having second opinions about allowing them board the _S'weise_; _kwei_, those oomans, there was little they couldn't cause trouble with.

She'd stopped to Challenge the male as he carefully nudged her further into the bowels of the ship. Clicking, Ujik'va pressed his wide hand against her small back. She hissed in pain, the patch job was still tender. The ooman bared her blunt teeth in aggression and the arbitrator flared his mandibles at her disrespect. Yeyinde jerked back, uncertain.

Ujik'va huffed, feeling his age upon him.

He lead her to the cockpit, and sat in his rightful chair; sitting Ujik'va was level with her face. The female glanced hesitantly out the viewport and into space. "We are following the Bad-Blood's ion trail," he told her with rasps and clicks, to distract her. He did his best to hand-sign, to make the ooman understand, "We are behind - - but the _S'weise_ is fast."

"When?" a ooman sound he knew, along with her attempt to make sure he knew it - - a shrug of the shoulders and a raising of the hands, palms skyward.

He did not know. Many of her ooman time measurements, many hours.

Yeyinde seemed to accept the answer and turned bow-side again.

Ujik'va allowed himself a moment to survey his strange female. She looked sick, gaunt, even in his natural infrared spectrum. While strange, ugly, he could not deny that the angles of her face were pleasing in shape; her skull would be rounder than the male's he wore - strapped just under his ribs - yet with strong planes. Had the Hunt interested him, the arbiter considered that he might have taken hers… under different circumstances.

Those circumstances drew his small eyes to her wide, suckling bearing hips. She had been tight, he remembered, warm against his aching loins - - passage smoothed over by blood. Had the ooman been yautja, she would have been a prized female. But she wasn't yautja. Yeyinde wasn't his kind. And he'd damaged her - Ujik'va's tusks rattled incessantly against each other - a damage he couldn't repair. Perhaps a healer on the clan ship…

She was no longer a lou-dte kalei, "child maker," he'd seen it through biological scanning.

As if sensing his immense sorrow, the female turned towards him. Yeyinde's stance was shaky, and Ujik'va couldn't tell her mood, but reached to run his claws through her soft looking tresses.

Dried mud flaked roughly. The arbitrator made a noise and expression that at least made his female laugh, a tinkering half-felt sound.

"I'm dirty, I know," she said and gingerly grasped his wrist to pull his hand away. Her hands were small compared to his, with useless claws and supple skin. Yeyinde nervously released his arm, "Do, do you have somewhere I can fix that?"

He clicked and stood, certain that the _S'weise_ would alert him when the long-range scanners picked up sight of the Bad-Blood's ship.

Now was not the time to dwell on what could have been.

* * *

Translations

Awu'asa: full body-armour.

Chiva: right of passage; the un-blooded become blooded warriors.

Dhi'ki-de: unconscious / state before death.

Dtai'pyode amedha pauk-de: "the soft meat fucker."

Kwei: sly and tricky.

Lou-dte kalei: child-maker.

Nok: measurement; aprox. 13 inches.

Ooman: human (slang)

Pyode Amedha: soft meat/humans.

Suckling: Yautja term for a baby.

S'weise: Ujik'va's ship; "Twice-Strike."

S'yuit-de: coward, insult

Ujik'va: "Cut-Claw."

Ve'nde thwei: bad-blood.

Yautja: the Predator race.

Yeyinde: "Brave one."

Y'tekujte: Gray-Hair's clan.

I really updated my yautja language with this one didn't I? There are a few non-cannon words involved, but that's part of the fun with Predator verse. I'll start by saying that this chapter was hard to write, because it was partly in Gray-Hair's point of view, and I had to come up with a believable reason as to why he'd take Gwyn with. I hope I did my Preddy good. Secondly, I'd also like to say that I completed my collection of Predator antiquities by buying the AVP books. For those who've read them, you may notice some differences in later chapters when it pertains to the yautja, but I'll do my best to explain why I didn't go along with the books. This one was filler and didn't have sex, but the next chapter will. (And talking about those books, why was it whenever the yautja thought about making sucklings, they died? I personally think Machiko should have jumped Shorty and had wild hate-sex with him.)

Predator biology is hard to come up with. I'm going to say the oxygen carrier in their blood is copper because when it's oxidized it's a nice green sheen (thus their blood when it's spilled) and when copper is polished it has a nice red/orange hue, which can help with the browner Predators. I honestly don't know if their ship is made of iridosmium ore, but the element osmium is slightly blue and strong, so… that sounds like their ship to me. That's enough notes for now!

I may not update as readily after this because college is starting up again, so "yey!" I am also considering changing the entire story to 3rd person to keep it even, what do you think? I'd like to give thanks for all the reviews and rates! Keep it up!

Lord Anubis: Hopefully you enjoyed the chapter ;)

ida-criss-wild: I did :D

Captain Razz: I'm happy you like it so much! :D

Dragonfiz: I didn't! (not for too long, anyway!) XD

callmeBaby'08': There you go! :D

cricket: I think if I toned it down the chapter would have been half as big. Lululul.


	5. Almost

Chapter 4

That night, my dreams were strangely erotic.

Maybe it was brought on by the bath, the sensation of being warmed so thoroughly that I'd been one with the water; or maybe it was the way Gray-Hair's calloused palms felt as they'd rubbed across the expanse of my body, burning and methodic. There had been nothing sexual about the touch, but I'd shook badly through the whole process as Gray-Hair pressed on from behind. I'd leaned out of the water, to not feel his taut abdomen or mistake the experience for anything else other than removing grime and sweat. The dream was anything but.

Clawed hands slowly stroked my inner thighs with burning heat. I arched into the giant body, gasping as long fingers dove between my dark curls. A talon teasingly ran against my slit, giving only a fraction of the sensation I craved. My digits weaved into his gray locks, tugging with each merciless stroke. No matter how I moved, Gray-Hair never gave me what I craved.

Hot flesh prodded my lower back, and I grasped it. Gray-Hair hissed pleasantly as I fondled his hard length. Precum beaded the tip, and one handed, I smoothed the lubricant up and down, from head to base. The length was long, thick - - I could feel his heart beating - - if his anatomy was similar enough to have a heart. Tusks pricked incessantly at my neck and shoulder with each huffing breath, but the sting sent a wonderful throb between my legs. We groaned.

Finally the long finger sank into my body, testing my slick folds. It matched my pace, pumping into me with each of my tugs on his alien flesh. Faster, faster. He jerked in my hand and I rode his palm, wet with my juices. There was only breath, strong and short, an animalistic frenzy of sweat and movement. I was going weak in the legs, it was becoming too much-

I was thrown to a bed - - a bed out of place, as it belonged at my childhood home. The springs squeaked horribly and I sat halfway up before the alien straddled my torso. He snarled low, thrusting his swollen cock against my flesh. With readjustment, I gathered my copious breasts around the needy length and lay back, letting him pleasure himself. Gray-Hair's breath was ragged, and escaped with loud huffs timed to each push. It filled me with powerful feminine pleasure to know I caused this beast.

There was only the friction, a disjointed reality as if he were already in me, his thick organ beading with liquid. I tasted at whim, laving the mushroom-shaped head with the flat of my tongue. My mind told me it was salty, but my tongue said it was bitter.

Gray-Hair thrust a handful of more times and tensed. With a roar a stream of hot cum burst from his stiff cock across my face and neck. Some made it into my waiting mouth, where my lips eagerly smacked it away. Dismounting, the Predator nudged my legs apart, then plunged his claws inside with a viciousness that would have cut in real life. He thrust in and out, in and out, ferocious and rough and oh-so-good. I thrust my hips back with all the lust in my body. Wetness seeped from the juncture of my thighs, smearing with each plundering stroke. White hot fire verged on full conflagration in my belly, and God did I want it.

My hands clutched frantically at the sheets, at his thick wrist, as if to stave off the rush. But it was already too late.

And in that most critical moment, the moment of full completion - - I woke up.

* * *

Ujik'va smelt a female. Between sleep and full alertness, his dick engorged on blood for a rut that might not come. Mating rattles echoed from chest at the hot body pressed against his hide, the twitch of small hands running over his pectoral muscles. It was a strange touch to him, to be touched gently, and that perhaps was what made him open his beady eyes.

Suckling-like, the ooman female had nuzzled into him in sleep. Ujik'va laid on his back upon the many furs and she held herself against him, strange face hidden in his flesh and clawless hand splayed on his stomach, twitching in the midst of dream. Her breaths were warm, wet, and his cock twitched impatiently to be enveloped in her soft folds.

After bathing together in a tub, which was far deeper than it was wide, Ujik'va had brought the ooman into his quarters. He would not have his companion sleep with her pack on the floor like an animal. Not like the abused pet she had been to the bad-blood. It had took coercion, lengthy time for her to even consider laying on his pelts with him. Ujik'va did not understand it fully, but her distraught reactions to him while bathing were a hint. Contact disturbed his female, and not from a physical ailment but mental. Her abuse by the bad-blood made her skittish, untrusting.

But that didn't explain why she was groping his body in scandalous ways - - her hand fumbling with his painfully hard cock and her wet ooman lips pressing against his-

Ujik'va groaned deep at the strange sensation of her taste organ on his tough hide. As a yautja, his sense of taste was dull, intermingling with the olfactory tissues that lined his pharyngeal cavity. But the alien sensation sent a hard shiver straight into his groin, his member jerking. He'd only worn it to make his female comfortable with his proximity. Now he wished he'd not bothered with it at all - - he wondered how he tasted to her.

Musk trickled down his dreads, the smell thick and heavy. Yeyinde's scent was impossibly strong. The attention paid was exquisite. Ujik'va, however, was undoubtedly confused by her behavior… and by himself. A snarl ripped from his throat with another swipe of that tongue.

The sound startled her awake.

And he did not know what to make of her reaction.

She took a second to get her bearings; she looked at her hands, where they placed on his body - on his cock, wrapped around him- how she positioned against his superior form. The female _jumped_ from Ujik'va as if he were _Cetanu_ himself.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, so- so sorry!" Yeyinde scented of fear - - she scooted far away from him, her uncanny, yautja-shaped, eyes wide. He recognized the words as expression of regret and apology. By the time she'd made it to the door, the arbitrator finally moved, mandibles splayed with intent.

For the first time in a long time, Ujik'va's reflexes failed. His female had already gone.

* * *

I breathed deep, trying to control the huffs that threatened to break out of my lungs. I smothered the breaths with the back of my hand, clenching my eyes. In the back of the ship, between pipes and grating, I found little peace. I was disgusted with myself, and terrified. I'd touched him, a beast who'd… who'd…

"What have you done?" I managed between another gulped breath, sinking to the floor. "Damn it, Gwyn!"

It had been a dream, at first, a dream that tangled badly with my reality.

"Fuck," I moaned and sank to the floor, into the thick fog, holding my head. _He's not your species, Gwyn. He's not _human.

And that made it _wrong._ I couldn't humanize him, because he was anything but. There was a terribly primal glint in those gold eyes, and I didn't know a way around it.

The piping hissed, spewing more sweltering moisture into the environ. It seemed like I'd never visit a place where I didn't sweat. Only I knew part of the heat was caused by the dream, still so fresh and vivid in my mind that my body thrummed more from pleasure than from bruise.

I'd found a strange comradeship with Gray-Hair. The rape, although horrible, was the point of bondage, the part that gave us both a reason to hunt down and destroy the other … together - - what did they called themselves? I laughed quietly under my breath, sliding my hand over my forehead and into damp hair. Anyway, I'd put that comradeship out on a limb - - unknowingly with my dazed fondling. The limb might be broken now.

Gray-Hair could have a wife-monster or kids back home, a family, and here I sat after feeling him up. He'd been stiff as a rock under my hands, his muscles tightened to snap. His hide had a pebbly texture, dark patterns raised just enough to be felt. The body was more real than my dreams, but not accepting of my touches.

I looked at my hands in contempt. I didn't want to touch him. Not like that. My dreams pointed otherwise - - but my dreams are only dreams after all.

Voices drifted to me though the ship, a low hoarse bout of laughter. I rubbed my eyes vigorously and stumbled up, holding myself. With a strange, sinking confidence, I wandered to my crew. Anything to keep thoughts away. Anyone.

They hadn't moved far from the entrance, a white circular chamber with four pillars stretching high to the ceiling. The roof was covered in animal skins, blocking the main lighting and coloring the thick mist yellow. The crew huddled near the middle, having raided my bags for food and booze.

"Gwyn, come here," Doc motioned for me to join, so I did. Perhaps it was me, but I was out of place. The three men neither looked happy nor angered at my presence, but wary. Duke refused my bleak gaze, typical, but I did not understand Doc's and Mason's guarded expressions.

"Where's that ET takin' us?"

And for that, there was one answer: "Hunting."

I explained the full circumstances of _Betsy-Daisy's_ crash, how the Asshole we were now tracking had sabotaged our ship and sent us to the ground. I did my best to explain a grudge between Gray-Hair and the Asshole, between the avocado alien and me. I told of beatings, but not rape; I told of capture, but not tears. They didn't try to console me - - I didn't think I could handle it.

"Where are you injured?" Doc shoved alcohol into my hands.

I fumbled with the cap, then shook my head, "Gray-Hair took care of it," and drank away the guilt in my stomach.

"Pfft," Duke finally spoke, focusing his narrow eyes on mine. His nose had been taped back in place, courtesy of Doc and the First-Aid kit. "You're pretty comfortable around that ET. Why weren't we invited in on communal shower time?"

I bit my lip, grimacing darkly. "You know what Duke, fuck you."

"I don't take damaged goods," his gaze was harsh, unyielding. How could he possibly - ?

- I flinched.

"Shut it," Mason snapped, half through a package of chicken and lime soypro. "How long till we get this guy. I have a score to settle for my ship-"

"We all have scores to settle," I swallowed thickly, "I was under the impression that we'd find him soon."

The conversation mingled into silence, a mockery of the camaraderie that had formerly taken place on our junk barge. Methane and oily air perfumed us, drowned us in hot climate and body odor. Doc tapped his foot absently, scratched at his stubble; Mason finished his soypro; Duke swigged back another beer. An hour must have passed.

"Remember T-677, _that_ place?" Doc finally said to break the engine thrums. "What a dump - - garbage, _everywhere_."

"Yeah, I remember, took weeks to get the smell out of our clothes. We didn't even find anything worth salvaging. Bunch of yahoos."

"Yeah, but nice lookin' ones," Duke turned to Mason, "That red-head was a fine broad, cheap too."

Mason rubbed at his bald skull and leaned back, looking rather pleased. He was remembering a time when aliens weren't shooting plasma casters at him or satisfying other gory needs. "She had great lips, the kind that could wrap-"

Lalala - - I thought to myself. I didn't need to hear it. A warmth had settled into my stomach, a light headedness making me sleepy from obvious lack of sleep. However, I stayed awake, half adrift in bad fantasies and the other's conversation.

"What ever happened to Darleen? Weren't you an' her supposed to jump ship?" Mason inquired of Doc.

Doc shook his head. "There was nothing here for her, you remember? _I ain't marrying no two-bit scrapper._"

"Hell, what's wrong with bein' a scrapper? There's plenty of credits when we get hauls!"

"_When_ is exactly right - - that just points back to T-677."

I could understand.

Herrick. Herrick thought the same damned thing. We never _had_ hauls. We _never_ had credits. And when they did, we did, credits were used up to start all over once again. Not that there'd be anymore of that, not since the _Betsy-Daisy_ was well gone. Herrick was well gone. Then, suddenly, I was hit with an resolution.

"I want his gun," I interrupted their conversation. The whisky bottle was cold in my hands.

They looked at me, looked at little Gwyn, who'd never shot a gun in her life, like I had two heads.

"Who's gun?"

"Herrick's, you bastard," I glared daggers at Duke. "You took it off him."

"Like hell I did-"

"-It was always on him, you were the only one up front to take it!"

"Herr-'

"Just give her the damn gun, Duke," Captain Mason elbowed him in the side. "If Gwyn wants a gun, she should have a damn gun."

Duke stiffly dug into his own bag. A moment later I was forced to catch the cold heavy steel of Herrick's revolver. The grip was large, the polished and well cared for steel cool. I hadn't realized how large of a gun it was, how much strength it took to lift. On the side it read S&W 500 Magnum, and held five charging holds - - all loaded. A moment later I was also forced to catch the ammo that was unceremoniously dumped into my lap.

"Think you can handle it, little girl?" Duke sneered, cracked lips pulling back grotesquely on his yellowing teeth. "That's a _man's_ gun."

I only had one reply as I stood, heart pounding frightfully fast in my chest - - "Are you willing to find out?" I wanted nothing more than to test it. I'd never shot a gun - - but I knew the theory: cock the hammer, pull the trigger. Every cell in my body wanted Duke to be that first bullet.

I wandered away from the men after that. The smell of their sweat was bitter in my nose - - as was my own, although mine was decidedly more sweet. I fumbled unloading and loading the magnum in a dark corner of the ship, carefully going through the motions of the old weapon that Herrick had painstakingly preserved. The casings for the gun were as long as my pinky, brass and heavy in my bag, the worn leather holster weighing the other side. The weight was not unlike the tools of my mechanic trade, just different in nature. I didn't know if I could fire it, but I doubted Gray-Hair would appreciate me putting a hole in his hull.

Gray-Hair.

I made a face and touched the gun on my left hip. My right hand clutched the whiskey. I'd paced the halls of his ship a few times by now, up and down the glowing walls, across solid floor and metal grating, below which were entire rooms - - store rooms by the look, filled with organized crates. At one point I found myself in front of _his_ door again, a door that would slide straight into the wall if opened. It'd only been two three hours now since I'd awoke. He might have gone back to sleep.

I imagined what would happen if I pressed the indent to open it. I imagined going in, laying down on the furs - - I imagined the dream, and my heart fluttered weakly, then tightened. Gray-Hair was undoubtedly still inside. At heart, I was a coward. I turned from the door and paced once again. Anything to distract me.

But my thoughts wouldn't stop pacing, just like my feet.

I was born on P-489, a small planetoid around the size of Pluto. With little gravity, and even less atmosphere, the colony was forced to work inside. Precious ores and metals were mined there, and my parents were the mechanics in charge of making the drills run right. Long days passed with me watching them, wanting to grow up and have jobs just like theirs. They'd taught me and helped me build, fix, repair. For me, I liked the effort, that I could rework kinks and make machines move. Sure, I wasn't making things as complicated as AI's or conversion reactors, but it… it was fun. I advanced with every little job.

This ship was more advanced than anything I'd ever seen.

I'd stepped past an open door. Then I realized that there was indeed a door, and swiveled to a stop. The tell-tale sound of clattering tusks drew me back, and I steeled myself. Gray-Hair wasn't in his room as I'd thought, and living on a ship as small as the _Betsy-Daisy_ taught me that although I wished otherwise, it's impossible to not confront shipmates.

He was-

Skulls.

A morbidly large display of skulls, a collection of monsters without names. The precipice, like the highest pipes of an organ - - an ivory crown, flaring and flat but twisted all the same, it lead to a maw of crystalline teeth and an eyeless domed face. I gasped, shocked at the sightless horror, the pyramid of alien trophies, like a taxidermists flaunted works. There were many, maybe hundreds, because the room was that large.

Gray-Hair heard. Gray beaded dreads clattered only faintly with their precious decorations. His mandibles were drawn in, his expression seriously pensive. His body was clothed only in a loincloth, snug, but low against powerful hips. The lack of armor and weaponry didn't diminish his stance or mass over me in anyway. Upon the dark worktable before him was the human skull he had worn. His thumb caressed its brow before he faced me fully.

"I didn't mean to intrude…" his answering trill was neutral, rattling into silence as sharp gold eyes fell on the weapon at my hip.

This tusks clicked once, twice more, eyeing me. He said his name for me finally, and I sidled into his space.

I said what I thought was right: "I'm sorry again for… for earlier," his head tilted, as if to better understand my words. "I shouldn't have touched you - like… like that." If he understood me, I didn't wait for his reply. I extended the booze.

He made no attempt to accept, studying me only with regard. So again I offered, gut curling in the heat. "Take it."

He slowly did.

And there were no distractions here.

Gray-Hair's claws tapped against the glass as he inspected the bottle. Opening it, he huffed the fumes - - and I suddenly realized how odd it was, that he needed to smell through his mouth. Unbidden came a trill and he eyed me yet again - - a knowing look, he knew what alcohol was. I smiled despite myself.

"Ooman c'ntlip," his finger beckoned and his mandibles twitched. I strayed closer. From under the work table Gray-Hair opened a storage container, and pulled out a heavy flask. I had an inkling before I even held it. The humanoid made the motion of drinking, his mangled upper-left mandible pulling sideward, a smirk. Men - - some things _were_ universal.

I sloshed the amber liquid in the heavy flask, indecisive. Surely it couldn't be bad? The taste of alcohol was amazingly strong, and the drink almost sickly sweet.

Coughing, I wiped my mouth, "Oh, Gods, what is this? Moonshine?" It was going straight from my throat to my head. Screw my stomach, I couldn't feel it.

Gray-Hair barked with laughter, a sound that echoed from the tall room and off the gory decorations. I gave him the one-finger salute - - but he mustn't have known the meaning. The beast's laughter died into purrs, like a giant content pussy-cat, and reached to the wall, touching an indent.

The floor moved under my feet and I squeaked, stumbling backwards. The massive alien steadied me with a hand as the desk slid neatly into the wall, and the flooring pulled back to reveal a _lounger_. Or the closest version of it. The sloped alcove was bowl-shaped, and the sides padded with soft looking furs. Extra pelts and skins lay around the edges. The middle was occupied by a slender table, which was also retractable. It faced the pillar of skulls, like one would set a couch before a TV.

As Gray-Hair slipped down to the furs, I followed awkward suit. His purrs had yet to die and he lazed out along the side. He tasted the alcohol I'd given him and trilled again; I laughed in his stead, his manner of drinking from the narrow bottle amusing. We settled into a quiet and emotionally warm silence, sipping our dues and enjoying the bubbly that welled in our stomachs.

He'd forgiven my earlier mishap.

As I lay back and looked at his collecti0n of skulls, the blunt alien faces of massive creatures, and even skulls of his own kind, I couldn't help but pose a question: "Why?"

Gray-Hair tilted his head in question, rumbling still. I waved towards the mounted creatures. "Why do you have so many skulls?"

* * *

His tusks could only clack in answer to the female's question. Finally he signed to her what she could only interpret as prowess. Displayed before the ooman were his most honorable trophies - - his status of Arbiter and Honored Warrior in one. It takes a certain kind of person to hunt their own kind, a hunter to hunt a hunter; although bad-bloods weren't hunters - nay, Yautja - at all.

Yeyinde consented to his signed explanation slowly, and he knew that his female had not rec0gnized all, but she understood the most important part. His skulls were his proof of Honor.

He had been contemplating the female when she'd stumbled by.

Yeyinde's actions from earlier plagued him in the oddest way, and when he'd breathed her lingering thick scent, his body responded by growing _painfully_ erect. That's why he had retreated to his trophy room to inspect skulls.

He shivered, even now, remembering the feel of her soft touches. No female of his own kind had ever touched him so gently - - not even his bearer. He had liked it.

It was unacceptable for a Yautja, a Hunter, to _like_ the touches of Prey. By the Code Yeyinde _wasn't_ Prey. She had shown him Mercy, and thus was his equal.

Ujik'va trilled, gold eyes flitting to the ooman. Her face was flushed and her fleshy mouth pulled into a smile. The c'ntlip was strong, and she took it well enough, but he worried that it was too intoxicating for a ooman - - the ooman c'ntlip was mild, but good. He could feel the hazy warmth relaxing his tense muscles.

Over the scent of the fermented beverages he could smell the female - - his groin responded. Sweet and cloying, he could almost taste it.

How could she smell of heat, when she was no longer lou-dte kalei?

Ujik'va trilled his interest at her, and she tilted her head. Then the arbitrator came to a sudden realization - - he didn't know _how_ to entice a ooman into rut. But that smell was going to drive him _hulij-bpe, _crazy, with frustration.

He deepened his mating call, added strength. His female was unmoved. He went as far as too press his palm formally to her sternum, and feel the sharp breath she took in reply.

Slowly, the female took his wrist once again into her soft hands, and removed his hand. His gut fell only slightly. He was a male in his prime, after all.

Yeyinde took his hand, fumbling with the c'ntlip held between her thighs, and did something strange. She pressed her palm to his, thumb to thumb, claw to clawless finger. A mirror of his, but his hand was easily twice as large as hers.

Her laugh was short, nervous. Yeyinde withdrew her hands, dropping his to wrap them around the flask of c'ntlip.

"I have the feeling that you understand me more than I understand you," she said, avoiding his eyes. Ujik'va tapped his mandibles absently, putting his released hand to his knee. "I'd like to change that."

His purr eased again, trying to calm the scent of anxiety that flared unbidden. Yes, he agreed. Communication would be a grand thing.

* * *

I jerked awake. A low beeping echoed in my head, and I immediately thought of alarm of _Betsy-Daisy's _crash. Gray-Hair sat up as quickly as I, standing.

With great coordination I stumbled after him, a delirious rush, taking two to three loping steps for each one of his. We tore out of the room, alcohol forgotten on the table.

Not far into the hall my Mason, Doc, and Duke spilled forth from another hall. They accidentally blocked Gray-Hair's path. With a roar, he shoved them out of the way, sideways into the wall, non-stopping.

Whilst Duke snarled, Doc and Mason recovered quickly and fell in next to me. They smelled like sweat and old socks.

"What is it?"

"I don't know," I said, vaguely annoyed at their questions. My head was a throbbing hell, I felt sick to my stomach. "It's an alarm, you tell me."

Ahead, our alien benefactor had made it into the metal pilot's seat. Before the window was a stylus and electronic board with pictorial flashing symbols. The chair groaned and slid forwards, at the same time the back plating slid before Gray-Hair's face, transforming into a large red screen.

This was not what made me double take.

"My God," Doc said, "It's the-"

The _Titan._ A monstrosity of engineering all by itself. USCMC research vessel. Its metal hull gleamed starkly in the light of a nearby blue star bow side. It was nearly twenty football fields in length, levels and levels of countless technological facilities. The distress call ringed in my mind, that screaming S.O.S, but I couldn't see any damage to the hull of an attack. Yet the thrusters were offline and the ship floated derelict.

I dared to press against the window, watch my breath condensate upon the glass. A ghost ship, gigantic and whole, marine based, and quiet. Too quiet. How did this mission come full circle?

And then I saw it, mounted at the hull. A ship like Gray-Hairs. That Asshole's ship.

"Shit," Captain Mason was trying to hold back a smile. "We made it!"

But I couldn't smile, my guts felt like ice. The rest of the crew was falling in Mason's suit, a kind of easy going "our pains are all over, we've struck gold," but I felt different. I felt like something was terribly wrong.

Apparently Gray-Hair did as well. I turned to him as the visual screen folded back into his chair. His mandibles were tight, silent, then flared in contempt as his heavy brows furrowed. He gave a roar and directed the stylus over picture over picture. The alarm fell silent.

Gray-Hair accepted his directions with a final press of the stylus to the screen.

A brilliant flash of light blasted from our ship and into my tormenters, exploding in a bright, but silent, imploded conflagration. I don't think I've seen anything as beautiful as fire without gravity.

A horrible silence fell over my crew, as if they finally realized what Gray-Hair's technology was capable of.

The villain's ship tore from the now gaping port as the yellow and orange flames died as soon as they'd came. Chunks of metal floated off, but our ship neared yet still.

And by the look on Gray-Hair's crab-like features, I knew that we hadn't killed that Asshole - - and that there was more than that was waiting for us.

* * *

Translations:

Cetanu: Yautja deity of death; the Black Warrior.

C'ntlip: alcohol.

Hulij-bpe: crazy.

Lou-dte kalei: "Child Maker."

Ooman: human.

Rhynth: large rhinoceros like animal herded in the first AVP book; alien cattle.

Yautja: Predator species.

Yeyinde: "Brave One."

(1) S&W Model 500: if you've ever watched _Dirty Hairy_, that's the gun, a .44 magnum revolver. This handgun weighs 4.5 lbs (72.5 ounces) and 15 inches in length - - with the barrel being 8.4 of those inches (37.5 cm long gun, 21 cm long barrel). …Just watch _Dirty Hairy_, then you'll see it in action. XD We'll just say it _kicks_, _a lot_.

(2)I realized something: is Yeyinde the masculine form of "brave one?" If Da'dtou-di is the feminine form of "little knife," wouldn't the feminine of Yeyinde be Yeyindi? Arrgh!11!0! I don't know, what do you predaphiles think? I may change her name to Yeyindi…(which makes sense).

The _Titan._ Duh-duh-duh-duuuuhhhh. If you need the reference, go back to the first chapter and scan it over :) But we all know what's happened when military vessels float derelict and communications are down, don't we? *Nudge nudge, wink wink.* The _Titan_'s going to get rough. Hope you enjoyed the little sexual teasers. I couldn't have them "_go at it_" when Gwyn's still pretty torn up, but still: it's getting hot in here… I promise _full_ hot kinky smex in the next chapter :)

And once again I'd like to thank ya'll for your lovely reviews and favs! And even C2's oh geez (thanks!) I can't tell you how much it means to me! This is the first story I've taken seriously in a long time, so try to keep me encouraged! Tell me if Gray-Hair's gettin' OOC because… I don't think Yautja are just going to jump on humans after sleeping with them once (but then again, there wouldn't be any smut in this story if that weren't the case, lolol). -_-'

LordxXxofxXxDorkness: Thanks! If she got her nailed board/bat, well, she'd go on a rampage, lolol. As long as this doesn't destroy your brains, you're more than welcome for the fanfic crack XD

Lord Anubis: hahaha, the male oomans are going to get what's coming to them :D We probably won't even need to worry about secrecy… maybe XD

Dreamerboy84: I'm happy you like it! :D

cyrosian: she's definitely getting revenge. I may be mean to my OC's but I always give them their dues XD

Dragonfiz: That is cool points! XD I'm happy you took the time to read it so late! Now I just hope this chapters up as well…

ida-criss-wild: I think I did good on this one for the time put into it. I honestly procrastinated and ended up writing four pages of it just this night XD

Akailae: I'm sorry I made you wait at all! Lolol. I'm happy you love it so much, so here you go! :D


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